


The Egypt Trip

by CactusPot



Category: Total Drama (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, F/M, Reunions, i hate. the flush of shame. so much, i learned way too much about egyptian scarabs for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusPot/pseuds/CactusPot
Summary: “Dampypants? What are you doing here?”“I heard your screams of terror and ran in that direction.”Jo hopped to her feet and glared at him. “I was not screaming in terror,” she huffed. “It was a war cry to scare those psychotic bugs away!”~~~When Owen reached out asking for volunteers to pick up eliminated All Stars contestants, Brick enlisted to retrieve Jo. No problem, right? He wasn't expecting to get shipped off to Egypt three days into the season, and he definitely wasn't expecting to wander around a pitch-black, beetle-infested sewer in order to find her.
Relationships: Jo/Brick McArthur
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	1. The First Part

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts for half a month and i can't be bothered to come up with quirky chapter names

“That’s a lot of footage, Noah.” Owen peered over Noah’s shoulder, and Noah only spared him a passing glance as he tossed file after file in the trash.

“Four-hours worth, to be precise. And I only need half of it.” The Heroic Hamsters’ footage hardly contributed to his sleuthing; thus, into the trash file they went.

“Do you have a guess yet?”

Noah paused mid-click and ran through Villainous Vultures’ roster in his head. “Without looking at any film? Jo.” It wasn’t an unfounded claim; Chris had also sent him the confessionals from last night’s elimination ceremony, and she’d been the only person besides Lightning to garner votes. 

Owen waddled over to the dry-erase board they’d mounted on the wall. In the ‘first try’ column, he wrote Jo’s name underneath Sierra’s and Alejandro’s. For the moment, the ‘second guess’ and ‘eliminated’ columns remained blank.

Three days in, they’d already developed a routine: Noah made an initial conjecture, skimmed the day’s footage, and then made a better-educated hypothesis. So far his first tries—Sierra and Alejandro—were oh for two, but his second guesses—Lindsay and Lightning—were right on the money.

While Owen settled back in his seat, Noah clicked on a random segment of footage. The boys chuckled as Scott got pelted by a barrage of leeches.

“Aw, that challenge looks fun,” Owen said.

Noah grimaced. “Speak for yourself. I’m eternally grateful I didn’t qualify for All Stars.”

“Can’t believe the network decided to cut me,” Owen mumbled. “I won the first season! I definitely qualify as an All Star.”

Noah offered him a sympathetic pat. “Don’t feel too bad, big guy. Chris is letting us take charge of the flushed contestants, isn’t he? _And_ we signed on for that new reality show, remember?” Noah opened a new file that showed Courtney retreating into a cave with newbie Sam. More Heroes footage; he deleted it. “Just hang on for two months until the Race starts filming, and then you’ll be back in the spotlight.”

“Aw, you’re right.” Owen cheered considerably.

They chatted as Noah went through the footage, a detail for which Noah was grateful. A series of unfortunate events had dragged Noah into once again working under Chris and the network; without the promise of his best friend’s companionship, he would’ve quit before the first day had even commenced.

After a half-hour of watching the Villains sling leeches and scream at each other, Noah had seen all he needed to see. He closed the files tab and logged onto his email browser.

“Didya figure it out?” Owen asked eagerly.

“If my inductions are right”— _And they usually are_ —“Jo is definitely getting voted out tonight.”

“I don’t know how ya do it, Noah.” Owen ran back to the whiteboard and scribbled Jo’s name in the ‘second guess’ column, right underneath Lindsay’s and Lightning’s.

In an attempt to appear nonchalant to the flattery, Noah shrugged. “I was blessed with a genius intellect and cursed to use it for reality TV predictions. Anyways, you got the volunteer list handy?”

“One step ahead of you, boss!” Owen scrolled through the list. Weeks ago he’d reached out to former castmates asking if they wanted to help pick up eliminated All Stars contestants. Those who’d answered to the affirmative were listed in Owen’s high-security notes app.

“Cool.” Noah pulled up a list of his own, emailed to him by Chris McLean himself: Flush of Shame Elimination Locations. 

“Okay,” he said, turning to look at his partner-in-crime, “are we flipping a coin or rolling a die?” Selecting a picker-upper for Lindsay, always Miss Popular, had required an eight-sided die.

“Uh.” Owen looked at the list. “Neither? Only one name is there.”

“Only one name?” Noah blinked. “Even Lightning had two. And I _know_ Alejandro has several volunteers out of spite.”

“Only one.” Owen nodded solemnly. “Brick. I think he was the military guy.”

“That’s the one. Remember when he started crying hysterically after losing a challenge and Izzy laughed so hard she threw up on your carpet?” Noah snickered at the memory of their season four viewing-parties.

“My living room still kinda smells like vomit.” Owen smiled serenely.

Noah reread Chris’s email and raised a brow. “Dang. Lucky guy is going to Egypt.”

Owen’s jaw dropped. “Holy John F. Kennedy, that’s a long way from Wawanakwa. Egypt makes France look like a field trip!”

“Indeed.” Noah smirked as he pulled up the network’s bank information. “Get the dude on the phone. He’s got a plane to catch in thirty minutes.”

* * *

“Owen.” Brick spoke into his phone like it was a walkie-talkie. “Not that I regret the honor of being selected for this mission, but I have to question Chris’s selection of Egypt as a flush location. Over.”

“Uh, Chris said he needed extra content for the DVD,” Owen replied. “And Egypt is pretty dramatic, y’know? Over.”

“I’m confident there are plenty of dramatic landscapes that _aren’t_ six hours ahead of Ontario.” Brick stifled a yawn before wiping his brow. “Plus, I haven’t been trained for desert combat yet. Over.”

“Quit complaining,” Noah cut in from Owen’s side of the transmission. “You’re not going to war, you’re just picking up a disgruntled teenager. Plus you’ll be out of the heat soon enough. Turn right.”

Brick dutifully followed Noah’s instructions. “I assume that I’m going inside then? Over.”

“I guess you _could_ say that.” Noah’s tone was drier than the desert air.

As he walked, Brick took note of the colorful shops lining the street. True, he was here on a mission, and therefore he needed to stay focused on his primary objectives. But he’d never been to Egypt before, so who could blame him for soaking in the sights? The fashion, the architecture, the culture—if only he had more time to intake it all. He'd have to come back sometime when he wasn't jet-lagged and preoccupied with another task.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense! Where am I off to? A restaurant, perhaps?” The plane food had been awfully drab, even compared to his usual rations at boot camp. He could do for some actual grub.

The line went silent.

“Noah? Owen?”

“You think—” Noah stifled laughter. “You think she’d just be waiting at a fancy-shmancy restaurant or something? You think _Chris McLean_ is nice enough to arrange that?”

“Well, no,” Brick mumbled. He was well aware of Chris’s less-than-pleasant demeanor. “But he was nice enough to pay for the flights, so…” The sentence trailed off into uncertainty.

Six thousand miles away, Noah sighed dramatically. “Listen, kid, it’s called the Flush of Shame. Riddle me this: where do toilets go?”

“…The sewer?”

“Bingo. And speaking of, turn left here.”

“Wait.” Brick stopped dead in his tracks. “I’m headed into the _sewers_? You conveniently left that out of the mission description!” On the flight to Egypt, he’d done his darndest to ignore his nerves, but now it was impossible to ignore the trepidation that buzzed in his stomach like a thousand tiny unpinned grenades.

“He’s afraid of the dark, Noah,” Owen said kindly.

“I know. I watched those episodes. You were there when I watched them.” To Brick, Noah said, “Most phones have a flashlight app, dude.”

“I took the precaution of bringing an actual flashlight with me.” He kept his emergency flashlight in his pocket right next to his emergency funds. “Still, flashlights and phone apps provide little aid against miles of uncharted sewer.” Brick shuddered. “Who knows what could be down there!”

“I _know_ what’s down there: a beefy blonde who’s probably ticked off as is. You can bail if you want, but it’ll take what, another nine hours to send someone else out there? Do you want to anger her off further by forcing her to wait that long for someone to drag her back to Canada?”

“Uh…” Jo was intimidating enough when calm; when angry, she was downright terrifying. It’d been a year since the last time she’d yelled at him, but her furious voice echoed fresh in his mind. In any case, he wasn’t keen on facing her wrath again.

“Because you _know_ one way or another, she’ll find out about your cowardice. And then she’ll never let you hear the end of it,” Noah added.

Brick scrambled to collect his thoughts. “How do you know that? You haven’t even met Jo!”

“I pride myself on my discernment of character, even if it’s through reality show snippets,” Noah deadpanned. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Brick squared his shoulders and marched onwards. _You can do this, soldier_. _You’ve come this far already, and you can’t leave Jo behind._

The noisy streets of Giza provided a distraction from Brick’s impending doom. He focused on the street merchants and playful children instead of the fact he’d soon once again come face-to-face with his biggest foe. But all too quickly, the time of reckoning arrived. Noah directed Brick into a dusty alleyway. Nestled at the end of the corridor, limestone stairs descended into total darkness.

“Destination reached,” Noad intoned.

Brick swallowed. “I don’t suppose there’s cell service in the sewers?”

“Doubt it. But hey, just call us back when you have her. If we don’t hear from you in two hours, Chris will initiate the process of covering up your deaths.”

He nearly dropped the phone. “ _Pardon_?”

“Aw, Noah’s just messin’ with you! I think.” Owen paused, then added, “Good luck, bro! Over!”

Despite everything, Brick smiled. _At least one person is looking out for me_. “Thanks, Owen. Over.”

The call ended. Brick drew his flashlight—his last line of defense against the darkness. 

“Alright,” he murmured, “commence Operation Sewer Water.” Not the most creative of names, but it’d do.

Without further delay, Brick trooped down the stairs and into the sewer. Ten steps in, he switched on the flashlight. Twenty steps in, he stepped into a puddle. Thirty steps in, the surface light vanished.

“Come on, Brick.” He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the murk. “This is nothing compared to the Wawanakwa cave system! No toxic waste or giant gophers in sight. If you survived that, you can survive anything. You’re gonna ace this mission.

“…Hopefully,” He winced as he stepped into another deep puddle.

Talking to himself served a twofold purpose: it kept his nerves in check, and it could potentially alert his presence to Jo if she happened to hear him. She’d probably tease him for it afterward, but at least the mission would be complete.

“Right. Jo. The whole reason I’m here.” He turned corner after corner.

“I hope she’s not _too_ mad.” When Owen had first messaged him, Brick had volunteered to pick up Jo assuming he wouldn’t be called to action until the very end of the season, if at all. Nastier people than Jo had made it to past finales—Heather and Alejandro came to mind—so he’d assumed she’d do well in her second season. Her grit and dedication made her a worthy competitor, in his humble opinion. But third voted off? While he was admittedly very curious as to how that had happened, Jo was probably incensed about it.

“I suppose I’ll have to prepare for the worst.” Brick's superiors at boot camp had drilled into him the importance of preparation and adaptability for any situation; however, the Military 101 manual hardly covered what to do when reuniting with someone you haven’t seen in a while. Jo was predictable in several ways—always stubborn, sharp-witted, and intense—but there was no telling how she’d react to seeing him again.

“I mean, we haven’t even had a conversation since last summer!” Outside of the cast group chat—created by Anne Maria after Revenge’s filming had wrapped—they hadn’t interacted with each other. Which, honestly, was to be expected—Jo had never been all that social, and he, with that knowledge in mind, didn’t want to bother her.

“The bottom line is”—Brick ducked under a dripping pipe—“I am absolutely in over my head. But it’s fine! It’s totally fine.” If he kept repeating that motto, it would ring true eventually. And then perhaps the nauseous grenade-like feeling would leave his stomach.

Brick marched onward. The good news was that thinking about Jo had taken his mind off the darkness for a decent while. The bad news was, he was still nowhere close to locating her, and the shadows were making him drowsy.

 _Darn jet lag_.

“Hmmm.” He halted at the intersection of three tunnels. The flashlight’s beam glossed over the dilapidated wall, which was chiseled with hieroglyphs. The most ornate scene depicted a giant winged scarab devouring a child while other figures cowered in fear.

“Yikes.” Brick ran his thumb over the flashlight switch for comfort.

As if on cue, from a crack in the wall emerged a live dung beetle. In a swift jump, it landed on Brick’s wrist and skittered furiously up his arm.

“Aaaah!” Brick flung the beetle away and sprinted down the tunnel as if his life depended on it.

“New battle plan,” he told himself once he was sure he’d put enough distance between himself and the rogue bug. “Avoid all beetles, and don’t look at the walls.”

A sudden noise caught his ear, and Brick halted. Several beats passed, and then he heard it again: the distant scream of someone who hadn’t left his mind in months.

Time to kick this operation into high gear.


	2. The Second Part

Brick barely registered the twists and turns he took as he double-timed it through the sewer tunnels. The yells loudened as he ran, a sure sign he was headed in the right direction.

“Jo?” he called, gripping the flashlight tightly in his hand. “Jo!”

No response came; instead, he only heard shouts interspersed with angry taunts. Brick ran down a sloped tunnel and almost fainted dead away. A colony of dung beetles writhed before him, barricading the path.

“Oh boy.” _Okay, think. Scarabs are dung beetles, right? They eat dung, not humans. So they probably won’t eat you alive._ He’d have to check with Cameron when the season ended.

That being said, he didn’t look forward to walking through the swarm.

 _Just go for it. The faster you get past this, the faster you can get out of here_.

Deep breath. Then he sprinted through the beetles, shrieking all the while. Tiny black shells swarmed at his boots. Brick ran faster and screamed louder.

He made it to the end of the hall and risked a glance back. 

The scarabs were… not following him.

“Uh, okay then. That was only mildly embarrassing.” At least he wasn’t being eaten.

Another frenzied scream reached his ears. He picked up the pace again. Another crossroads approached, he opted to turn left.

Right as he rounded the corner, Brick slammed into a blur of grey. Yelping in surprise, he tripped backward onto the sewer floor. The flashlight slipped out of his hands, clattered to the floor, and switched off on impact. 

_Not the light_! As Brick patted the ground in a frantic blind search for the flashlight, the other person started yelling.

“Oh great! As if these stupid beetles aren’t bad enough, now I have to fight off a _mummy_? I can take you, sicko!”

Brick would’ve been ecstatic to hear Jo’s voice if not for the fact she was threatening to maim him. His hand brushed against the flashlight. _Finally_! A relieved grin split across his face.

Before he could turn it on, Jo tackled him to the ground.

“Wait!” He shielded his face with the flashlight. “Jo! It’s me!” His thumb jostled the switch, and the light flickered on.

The grenades in his stomach disappeared, and Brick was left with only one thought: It was weird how pretty someone could look when they were moments away from accidentally punching your lights out.

Jo loomed over him, one fist in the air, ready to strike. Bewilderment flooded her blue eyes.

“ _Dampypants_? What are you doing here?”

“I heard your screams of terror and ran in that direction.”

Jo hopped to her feet and glared at him. “I was not _screaming in terror_ ,” she huffed. “It was a war cry to scare those psychotic bugs away!”

“Effective strategy, ma’am.” Clutching the flashlight as if his life depended on it, Brick got up as well.

Jo glanced over her shoulder and glowered. “Are you kidding me? I just can’t lose these creeps!”

In the hallway behind her, another battalion of scarabs quickly closed in. Brick stared at Jo. Her damp blonde hair was plastered across her forehead, and her hoodie was sopping wet from the Flush of Shame. Which meant she’d been in a toilet for who-knows-how-long. And now the scarabs were chasing her.

The pieces clicked in his head at the same time Jo turned back to him. 

“Why the heck aren’t you running for your life?”

“Ma’am, I believe it’s in your best interests to take off your hoodie.” Brick realized too late how weird that sounded. Jo realized immediately, judging by the way her indignant expression embittered even further.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“I just meant they might leave us alone if you let them have your hoodie! Those are dung beetles.” He pointed at the rapidly-encroaching beetles, and then back at Jo. “You were just flushed down a toilet.”

Jo blanched. “I really, _really_ hate what you’re insinuating.” In the next moment, she tore off her hoodie and chucked it at the beetles. The scarabs swarmed around the cloth immediately.

Brick sighed in relief. “Let’s move out while the enemy is distracted.”

They took off down a bug-free passage. Brick held the flashlight steady, and Jo fumed as they jogged.

“That was my favorite hoodie, too!” She pounded a fist into her hand. “I am going to personally kill Chris McLean and everyone on the stupid Villains team.”

He ignored her death threats in favor of something more optimistic. “If you want, I’m sure we can buy you a replacement before we return to Muskoka. Honestly, I’m confident Egyptian textiles are better quality than Canadian textiles, anyway.”

“That brings me to my _next_ point. You didn’t answer my question from earlier: why the heck are you in Egypt?” Her tone morphed into something more suited for lighthearted chaffing. “Traded fashion school for archeology?”

“Not exactly. In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m here to pick you up.”

Jo punched him in the shoulder. “Stop being vague and explain!”

Brick summarized everything as best he could—Owen, at Chris’s request, had reached out to non-competing castmates and asked for volunteers to pick up eliminated All Stars contestants. Noah predicted eliminations in advance to avoid major discrepancy between arrivals at the flush destination—apparently travel by toilet was faster than airfare.

“So Chris _paid_ for you to come all the way out here?” Jo scratched her arms. “Between the toilet trips and the spa hotel, that explains where the season budget went.”

“Spa hotel?”

Either Jo didn’t hear him, or she ignored him in favor of griping. “I swear, that guy went cuckoo after his prison stay. Do you know how many times I got pushed into Chris’ psychotic crab pit yesterday? And by _Lightning_ , no less. Hey, is Sha-idiot in Egypt too? I’ve got a bone to pick with that guy.”

Brick pointed them around another corner. “Anne Maria picked him up from France yesterday. That’s what she informed the group chat, at least. Sent a charming selfie of the two of them underneath the Eiffel Tower.”

Jo made a face. “Have you guys been spamming it? I don’t my phone back until filming ends next week thanks to Chris’s stupid contract, and if I have a jillion missed messages from that chat, I’m gonna add every single one of you to my hit list.”

“Nothing too unwieldy,” he hastily assured her, “just speculation about how you guys are faring on the island.” Now he could finally get some answers. “Speaking of… how’d you get flushed so early?”

Jo stopped running and glared at him with such intensity that Brick shrank in his boots. “We. Are. _Not._ Talking about it.” 

_No answers for me then._ It was understandable she wouldn’t want to discuss it, but he was still disappointed.

Jo huffed and looked around the intersection at which they’d arrived. “Hey, where the heck is the exit? As much as I _love_ this exercise, I’d like to see the sun again, please.”

“Uh.” Brick peered down each tunnel. They looked identical: same grey walls, same spooky hieroglyphs, same drippy pipes. “Er. Ah.”

“Can you speak English, _s'il vous plaît_?”

“Yes, ma’am. Give me a few minutes to—”

“Brick.” Jo put a hand on his chest, which shut him up immediately. “You have no idea where we’re going, do you?”

“I do!” He waved the flashlight around wildly. “I earned the navigation medal at boot camp! I’m great at this!”

“Okaaaay. Well, since you are clearly useless, I am taking charge of this operation.” In one swift motion, she swiped the flashlight from his hand.

“Hey!” Brick grabbed for it, but Jo held it out of reach. “Come on, Jo, give it back!”

Jo sighed. “Get a grip, soldier.”

 _She’s right. This is not one of your proudest moments_. But no matter what logic told him, Brick couldn’t help getting hysterical. 

“We’re gonna _die_ down here. We’re gonna get eaten by the scarabs and it’s all my _fault_!”

“For the love of Pete, please shut your stupid mouth!” Jo grabbed him by the shoulders. “I didn’t get flushed down Chris McLean’s nasty toilet and sacrifice my hoodie just to die in an Egyptian sewer, okay? I’m getting us out of here.”

“But—”

“Are you doubting my capabilities?” Jo demanded.

“Of course not!” Brick saluted too quickly and accidentally smacked himself in the eye. “My apologies,” he said hurriedly. “It’s the jet lag.”

“If that’s what you’re calling it these days.” Jo’s hand migrated from his shoulders to his wrist, and she pulled him along. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Sure I do. Walk until we find daylight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fav moments in TD is in Finders Creepers when Brick starts hysterically crying at Chris's feet. He really goes from 0 to 100 in like ten seconds.


	3. The Third Part

Following the end of their phone call with Brick, Noah and Owen had left the computer room and traveled down three flights of stairs—Owen insisted on foregoing elevators in order to “prepare for the Race.” As the clock neared one a.m., they lounged in the hotel’s arcade, chatting about whatever.

After winning his fifth round of Pac-Man, Noah stretched and cracked his knuckles. “Well, big guy, I think it’s time for me to hit the hay.”

Owen, who was trying his luck with the claw machine, wrenched his eyes away from a stuffed teddy bear and quizzically stared at his best friend. “What about Brick and Jo? They haven’t called back yet.”

“Eh. They’ll be fine. But if you’re so worried, you can stay up and wait for them.”

“Works for me!” Owen tossed a thumbs-up at Noah. “Night-night, Noah!”

“G’night, dude.” Noah waved before heading back to his room on the third floor.

Owen pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the top of the claw machine. _If it rings I’ll hear it better from up there than from in my pocket_.

He slid another loonie into the coin slot. The machine’s lights glittered, and Owen maneuvered the claw until it hung precisely over the teddy bear of his dreams. 

Owen thumbed the button. Down dropped the claw. Its pincirs closed around the bear’s head.

“Success!” Owen yelled.

The claw rose once more and journeyed to the drop zone. At the last moment, the bear slipped from its grasp and plummeted to rejoin its fuzzy brethren on the machine floor.

“No!” Owen wailed. 

In a fit of sorrow, he shook the claw machine. “ _Why must you take Beary from me_?”

 _Oh crud, my phone_! Owen’s head shot up just in time for him to witness his phone clatter to the floor.

For a moment, Owen didn’t move. Finally, he stooped to pick up his phone.

No matter how forcefully he pressed the power button, the screen remained dark.

He sucked on his lip. “Eheheh… I think I’m going to bed, too.”

* * *

Brick had calmed down considerably by the time Jo found an exit. Instead of returning to the staircase through which Brick had entered the sewers, they’d stumbled across an ankle-deep passage of running water and followed it until it drained out into the desert. When they finally saw the sun again, Jo turned off the flashlight, handed it back to Brick, and started complaining immediately.

“If I get sunburned out here, I’m gonna sue Chris.” Jo rubbed her arms, already red and blotchy.

“Did the scarabs bite you?”

“Clearly,” Jo muttered.

In an attempt to make her feel better, Brick patted her shoulder. “I'm sure we can pick up a remedy of some sort before we board the plane.”

Jo pursed her lips. “What are you, my mom?”

“Just trying to help an injured soldier.”

“I’m not—whatever.” Jo turned away, still itching her arms. “Thanks, I guess.”

They trekked back to Giza, which was at most a half kilometer away—Brick checked the distance on his phone. He’d hoped that he’d feel more alert now that he’d left the sewers. Unfortunately, the heat, which grew as the sun rose, proved to be just as sleep-inducing as the darkness.

Perhaps conversation would keep him alert. “How are Zoey, Mike, and Cameron doing?”

Jo made a face. “I dunno about Tall Toothpick and Short Toothpick, but since Apology Brat is the reason I’m _here_ , I bet she’s feeling _pre_ tty happy right about now.”

 _What did Zoey do_? “Ah. Well maybe not right _now_ right now, since she’s probably asleep. It’s around…” He paused, trying to do the math in his head. “…midnight back in Muskoka.”

“You think the winning team _sleeps_ in the spa hotel? Night one, I was up ‘til one in the morning with Dog Collar and Gwennie White pulling pranks on Short Shorts.”

It took Brick several moments to match nicknames with contestants—Duncan, Gwen, and Heather. “Sounds entertaining.”

“Oh, it definitely was. The spa hotel is killer.” Jo smirked. “‘Course, you wouldn’t know, since you weren’t cut out for an All Stars season.”

“Actually—” Brick stifled a yawn. “Anne Maria and I were both asked to come back for season five.”

Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Nope. I believe Owen and that Cody fellow were also supposed to compete as well. But the network called us back and canceled. Budget cuts.” After today, Brick could only assume the budget cuts went towards funding the Flush of Shame.

“Dang. _Sam_ made it on the show over you? I swear every time I looked over, that guy was getting injured.”

“What Sam lacks in athletics he makes up for in good humor,” Brick said graciously.

Jo snorted. “Yeah, right. You should’ve fought the network harder for a spot on the show. It wouldn’t have sucked as much if you were there.”

Suddenly Brick was wide awake. “Really?”

“Sure.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “No one on the Hamsters could even come _close_ to matching my athletic prowess. If you’d been there, it would’ve been more incentive to whup their butts.”

He wasn’t sure what to respond to first—the roundabout compliment or the ridiculous team name. “Wait, the other team was called the Hamsters?”

“Yeah, the Heroic Hamsters.” Jo cracked a smile. “Those do-gooders really drew the short end of the stick.”

“What was your team?”

“The Villainous Vultures. Objectively the cooler name, even if everyone on the team sucked.”

“Interesting.” Brick thought about everything that had transpired last season. “I assume Scott and Lightning were also labeled Villains?” 

“Yeah, and—” Jo stopped mid-sentence and eyed him suspiciously. “Wait a minute. I see what you’re doing.”

Brick did not see. “What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to get me to spill how I got eliminated.” Jo poked him with an accusatory finger. “Well tough luck. You’re not getting that out of me.” 

“I wasn’t, cadet’s honor!” He saluted hastily. “I was just curious, is all.”

“That’s what they all say.” Jo squinted suspiciously at him. After several beats, she switched topics to all the various ways she was gonna kill Chris.

* * *

Jo hadn’t exhausted her list of threats by the time they reached an open-air shopping center somewhere in Giza. They claimed the first free table they could find. Jo, still scratching her arms, took to glaring at strangers. Brick, on the other hand, pulled out his phone to update Owen on the mission’s progress.

While he waited for Owen to pick up the call, Brick looked over at Jo. Her hair, dried by their desert walk, was now mussed and probably sun-damaged. Maybe it was the jet-lag, but Brick felt the tousled look suited her. Jo'd probably yell at him if he brought it up, though.

She caught him staring and furrowed her brow. “What?”

“N-nothing.” Brick glanced down at the table. Jeez, the air was warming up really fast.

“ _Hi, this is Owen! If you’re the pizza guy, yes I requested extra jalapeños and pineapple. If you’re a reality TV network, please instead call my bestest buddy and agent, Noah. If you’re one of my friends, woohoo! Leave a message, dudes._ ”

“Um,” Brick said after the voicemail ended, “he isn’t picking up.”

“He’s probably asleep,” Jo grumbled. “Slacker.”

Continuing on without updating his superiors didn’t sit right with Brick. But if Owen was asleep, there wasn’t much Brick could do about it. “If that's the case, I propose we proceed with the mission.”

“Roger that.” Jo humored him with a lackluster salute.

It took five minutes and five hundred frantic hand gestures to locate a currency exchange machine. Brick took out his emergency money—random deployment to Egypt definitely counted as an emergency—and attempted to feed the machine. It didn’t have much of an appetite and spit the bills right back at him. He tried again; no luck.

“You’re putting the money in the wrong slot.” Jo took the bills from his hands and slid them into the correct one. “Jeez, maybe I should start calling you Sir Sleeps-A-Lot.”

Brick pouted. “I thought I told you no more nicknames!” 

“Yeah, last summer.” Jo’s blue eyes glinted with humor. “Revenge ended, and now I can say whatever I want. Brick-for-brains. Sergeant Sleepyhead. _Rip Van Tinkle_.” She cackled. “That’s my best one yet!”

“ _Jo_ ,” he groaned. _At least you’re not being filmed right now. You’re not getting humiliated in front of the entire world_.

“Relax, I’m only teasing.”

The machine spit out a stack of Egyptian pounds. Jo swiped them up and handed a fraction of them to Brick. “Here. Go buy us some food while I go get that other stuff.” 

“You want to split up?” He looked around at the bustling market.

“Uh, yeah? Way more efficient.” Jo patted his back before walking off. “Meet you back at the table in ten minutes!”

Brick sighed and watched her disappear into the crowds. _She just charges off like she owns the place. An admirable trait._

“Snap out of it!” A slap to the face refocused his thoughts. “You have an objective to accomplish. Hop to it, soldier!”

It didn’t take him long to find a sandwich shop. Considering the morning was still young, the line wasn’t too unwieldy. The hard part was ordering the meal. Since Brick hadn’t the foggiest idea how to speak Arabic, he opted to point emphatically at the toppings he wanted on the sandwiches. He selected meats and vegetables randomly; from what he recalled of Revenge, Jo wasn’t particularly picky about her food.

After paying the cashier with his Egyptian cash, Brick retreated to the table to wait for Jo. Of course, he wasn’t going to start eating without her—his parents hadn’t raised him to be so callous—so instead he rested his head for a moment.

The next thing he felt was a sharp kick to the shin.

“Ow!” Brick jolted upright. A smirking Jo sat across from him.

“Sorry,” she said, not looking very sorry. “Had to wake you somehow, and since you didn’t bring your stupid alarm clock, that was the next best thing.”

“You could’ve just nudged me!” he argued, reaching down to rub his assaulted legs. Nevermind the alarm clock comment. “How long was I asleep?”

She shrugged. “Long enough for me to finish the whole tube of bite cream.” She briefly held up the offending tube before slipping it into the pocket of her black hoodie. “Dang, you suck at international flights. I guess we know which one of us does better with jet lag.”

“You’re not tired at _all_?” Brick passed Jo her sandwich.

She tore open the foil shell immediately. “I mean yeah, I’m tired, but the difference between you and me is that I won’t fall asleep at the table.”

Mealtime discussion revolved around the going-ons of the past year. Brick relayed several comical anecdotes from boot camp. To his delight, Jo laughed at them. Then it was his turn to laugh hysterically when she performed some spot-on impressions of Lightning.

When they were finished with their sandwiches, it was time to leave. It was only then that Brick fully registered Jo was wearing a completely different outfit: sandals, black track pants, and a black hoodie. Judging by the pyramids printed across the front, she’d probably found the outfit in a tourist shop. 

“Black? In this weather?”

“Whatever.” Jo remained unbothered.” We’re gonna be on an air-conditioned plane soon, right?”

“I suppose.” _It’s a nice look, though_.

Jo stared at him like he’d declared he absolutely adored Chris McLean. “Don’t make it weird, Jarhead.”

 _Oh no_. “Did I say that out loud?” When she nodded to the affirmative, he rushed to add, “My apologies, ma’am. That was out of line.”

“Keep that up and I’m gonna leave you in Egypt.” Jo brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Let’s move out.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll take your word for it. You’re the fashion expert, after all.”

Next destination: the airport, where the network’s chartered plane awaited them. Despite having no idea where the airport was, Jo charged ahead. Brick hustled to keep up with her. Sure, he was still tired, but it was in his best interest to keep that classified information.

“Hey, wait.” Jo finally slowed down and withdrew her leftover money from her hoodie pocket. “Here’s the money. You can give it to Chris when we get back or whatever.”

It must’ve been the jet lag because he had no idea what she was talking about. “Why would I give this to Chris?”

“That’s the network’s money. They’re kinda funding the whole thing, right?”

“They funded the airfare,” Brick corrected her. “That was my money.”

“ _Huh_? You just let me go buy stuff with your own cash?”

“Well, you did immediately run off it with it.” Brick rubbed his neck. “But that’s no problem.”

Jo side-eyed him. “‘Kay, well I don’t have my wallet for obvious reasons, but I can probably pay you back sometime after All Stars ends.”

“Think nothing of it.” He meant it. “Honestly. I always carry emergency funds, and this situation definitely qualifies as an emergency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure as anything.” A thought occurred to him. “But if you really want to repay me, you _could_ tell me how you got eliminated.”

Jo snorted. “Don’t count on it.”

They arrived at the airport sometime later. It occurred to Brick that Jo was in Egypt illegally—another example of Chris McLean’s gift of foresight—but flight attendant intercepted them before that became an issue. The attendant led them onto the plane before scuttling off to her own quarters somewhere else. She’d done the same thing on the first flight, but things were obviously different this time.

 _Sharing a plane cabin with one other person is somehow even weirder than having it all to yourself_. That was Brick’s thought as he followed Jo down the rows of seats in the cabin. She picked a window seat in the very front row. Instinctively, Brick went to follow her, and she stared at him quizzically, one eyebrow quirked.

“All this space”—she gestured to the room—“and you _have_ to sit next to me?”

“Oh.” He’d made it weird again. Classy. “I’ll just move, then.”

Jo snorted and waved a hand. “At ease. I don’t actually care. Sit wherever.”

Despite her apparent consent, Brick still got up and moved a few rows back, to be extra sure he wouldn’t disturb her.

Mission accomplished. He fell asleep to the rumble of the plane lifting off the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I think the 'Rip Van Tinkle' insult is the pinnacle of my creative capabilities.


	4. The Fourth Part

Brick woke up covered in peanut shells. The culprit leaned over the seats in front of him, peanut bag in hand, snickering.

“Jo!” He brushed away the shrapnel only for another peanut to hit his forehead. “How long’ve you been there?”

“Like, five minutes? You were out cold, Sleepyhead,” Jo said. “I took a nap, too, but mine was what, four hours? You were asleep for seven.”

“Huh. I must've really needed a refuel.” Brick felt more energized already. He looked out at the fluffy Canadian clouds that stretched for miles around them. “Say, do you think the trip back will cancel out the jet lag or worsen it?”

“Guess we’ll find out in a half-hour.” Jo withdrew a peanut from the bag, and, instead of throwing it, offered it to Brick. “Want one?”

He took the peanut.

“Fun fact: this place doesn’t have a gym.” Jo hopped off the chair, swung around, and landed on the seat beside him. “Personally, if I was a reality TV show exec, I’d put a gym on _all_ my planes.”

“You should suggest that to Chris. Y’know, in case he ever films a sequel to World Tour.”

“As if Chris would ever listen.” Jo rolled her eyes. “You know who _else_ doesn’t ever listen? _Heather_.”

 _That_ was out of left field. His eyebrows rose. “How so?”

Jo balanced a peanut between her thumb and pointer finger. “If she’d just conceded leadership to me, none of this would’ve happened.”

 _Is she saying what I think she’s saying_? “Ma’am, I was joking earlier. If you don’t want to talk about it, you really don’t—”

“Shut up before I change my mind. McLean’s gonna air it all anyways, and since who knows _how_ that nutcase is gonna edit the footage, you might as well hear it from me.” Jo glared at the peanut in her hand. “It all started when Lightning went to Boney Island after we won the first challenge.”

She pinched. The peanut splintered.

Jo outlined the events of the past few days. Lightning had botched the second challenge, and she’d rallied the Vultures to vote him out. “Afterwards Heather kept blaming _me_. Guess she was threatened by my superior athletic ability.”

“Of course,” Brick agreed, even though—while Jo was an amazing athlete—he wasn’t entirely sure that was the case.

Since Gwen and Duncan were a matched set, her next strategic maneuver had been getting on Gwen’s good side. Alejandro and Heather had come to the same conclusion, and Gwen had become the temporary team captain for the day’s challenge.

“What was the challenge?”

“War movie. You would’ve liked it.” Jo’s tone shifted briefly into something that resembled fondness. “I got to fire a leech cannon! A frickin’ leech canon!”

Despite entering combat with superior weaponry, the Villains lost the third challenge. “And it was _not_ my fault. How was I supposed to know friendly fire counted? And I swear the props department has it out for me. That’s the second time on this stupid show that I’ve gotten a jammed gun.”

“Blame the budget cuts,” Brick said. “Chris spent all his money on the Flush of Shame with nothing left over for props.”

“Got that right.” Jo finished the last of her peanuts. “Anyways, they blamed _me_ even though I’m the only competent person on that team! C’mon, Scott doesn’t contribute at all, Alejandro is stuck walking on his _hands_ , Heather primps herself more than frickin’ _Anne Maria_ , Gwen keeps trying to murder Courtney, and Duncan obviously doesn’t care about the game at all.”

“Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses,” Brick said. That was a tenant of basic training. “That’s why it’s so important to work as a team; you guys can balance each other out.”

“Too bad my team had the collective IQ of a rabbit,” Jo muttered.

As much as Brick liked Jo, sometimes her comments didn’t sit right with him. “Aren’t you focusing a little too much on everyone else’s shortcomings? You have to own up for your own mistakes at some point.”

She made a face. “My only _mistake_ was agreeing to come back to another season of this show.”

“Last season you only looked out for yourself, and look how far that got you.”

“Yeah, well you were nice to everyone last season, and look how far that got _you_.”

He frowned. “If Scott hadn’t been throwing challenges and I hadn’t volunteered to get hurled after the scavenger hunt challenge, you would’ve been the first Maggot off the island.”

“Well I _wasn’t_ ,” Jo snapped. “Stop boring me with your lame hypotheticals.”

“The point is that you’re way too abrasive. That’s what got you eliminated last season. And since you didn’t bother reflecting on your strategy, you made the same mistake this time ‘round, only way earlier in the game.”

Jo bristled. “What do you know? You weren’t even there!”

Brick hadn’t been there, true, but he and Camera had discussed gameplay and strategy several times after the fact. It hadn’t been uncommon for Jo’s name to pop up during those conversations, considering the impact she’d had on both Brick’s and Cameron’s rankings.

She probably didn’t want to hear that explanation, though. Especially since the season was over her; critiquing her personal flaws didn’t do much good now.

“I’m just saying,” Brick finished lamely. _Smooth_.

Jo threw her empty peanut bag at him. It was one of her more harmless attacks; the empty bag fluttered to the floor.

“Whatever. I’m getting more peanuts.” Jo hopped up and disappeared to heckle the stewardess.

When she returned a few minutes later, she held two peanut bags in her hands. Jo tossed the second bag to Brick.

“Much appreciated,” he said as he ripped open the plastic.

Jo grunted. “I don’t know how I’m gonna survive the next week.”

Apparently, she’d chosen to put their previous conversation behind her. _At least she’s not holding a grudge_.

“I’m sure wherever you’re staying beats the cabins at Wawanakwa.”

“I guess.”

“You could always try patching things up with Lightning,” Brick suggested as he tipped peanuts into his hand. “Maybe apologize?”

She stopped twiddling with her hoodie’s drawstrings and looked straight at him, indignation plastered all over her face. “For _what_?”

He racked his brain for specific examples of how she’d wronged Lightning. “Didn’t you feed him to Fang last summer? _And_ you voted him out literally two days ago.”

Jo raised one ‘ _you’ve got to be kidding me_ ’ eyebrow.

“At least you’d have someone to talk to while you wait for the season to end,” Brick added.

“Hmph. Maybe.”

* * *

A limo—quite possibly the Lame-o-sine used in season two, judging by the ratty interior—picked them up at the airport and dropped them off at a hotel on the lakeshore.

“I have to stay _here_?” Jo groaned as she stared up at the drab building. “This place looks way suckier than the Playa.”

“It’s hard to top the Playa,” Brick said, just to be fair.

For a moment, it was just them and the hum of the limo’s engine. Then the hotel doors burst open, and out popped a bubbly blond and his tiny sour-faced friend.

“Hey! You guys made it!” Owen gushed. “It’s so great to meet you in person!”

“Same to you, Owen!” Brick extended his hand for a handshake, but Owen scooped both him and Jo up in a bear hug.

“Let! Me! Go!” Jo wheezed, clawing at the air like a drowned cat.

“You can’t kill them, Owen, that’s Chris’s job,” Noah drawled.

Owen apologized and dropped them on the ground.

 _Ow_. Brick got to his feet and rubbed his head.

“Wow, what a great welcoming committee.” Jo’s signature scowl had returned.

Noah shrugged. “Not my idea of fun. But Owen here is working for Chris, and I’m along for the ride.”

“I have an important role in the finale,” Owen explained proudly. “I can’t tell you guys about it, though.”

“Fascinating,” Jo said sarcastically.

Owen giggled. “You’re gonna _love_ it, Jo! It involves you!”

Jo blanched. “I _cannot_ stay here.”

The door opened again, and another blonde joined them.

“Oh em gee, hiiiiiii Jordan,” Lindsay squealed. She tossed an enthusiastic wave in Jo’s direction before squinting at Brick. “Um, was there a double elimination, or am I missing something? ‘Cause I don’t remember _you_ being on the island.”

“Brick McArthur.” He once again extended his hand; Lindsay shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“You too!” Lindsay said. She turned and beamed at Jo. “It’s so fantastic to have another girl here! Maybe we can paint each other’s nails!”

“Kill me,” Jo said.

“I just painted Lightning’s,” Lindsay continued. “I said ‘stay right there and let them dry,’ but once he realizes that you guys are here he’ll—”

“Who got sha-voted out?”

A split-second later, Lightning barrelled out the doors, hands in the air and fingers splayed. Brick glimpsed the glittery blue Lindsay had painted on his nails.

When Lightning’s eyes locked on Jo, a malicious grin split across his face. “Boom! Sha-called it! That’s what you get, two-timer!”

“Shut up, Lightning.” Jo glared at him.

Lightning strolled over and offered an elbow bump to Brick. “Wassup, bro? Sucks you got stuck pickin’ up _her_.”

Brick accepted the elbow bump. “Aw, Jo isn’t so bad.”

“I’m right here, y’know!” Jo waved a hand in front of his face.

“Pfft, whatever.” Lightning snorted. “You’re gettin’ the silent treatment, Jo. Blondie and I have been sha-chillin’, and you’re not gonna ruin that for us.”

Jo made a face at Brick, and he received her message loud and clear: _Still think I should apologize to this loser_?

He shrugged in response.

“Okay, well, the gang’s all here,” Noah said. “That means it’s—”

“Tour time!” Owen cheered, pumping a fist in the air.

“No way is Lightning showing Jo where the indoor pool is!” Lightning crossed his arms and stomped back inside.

Lindsay ran after him. “Wait, we have an indoor pool? Show me!”

Noah leveled a glance at Brick. “Anyways, I guess it’s time for you to go back to the airport.”

“Pardon?”

“We booked you a connecting flight from Muskoka to Winnipeg,” Noah said. “Didn’t Owen tell you that?”

“No, sir, he did not.” 

Everyone looked at Owen, who giggled nervously. “Oh, funny story Noah! Totally forgot to tell you, but... I broke my phone last night.”

“Of course you did.” Noah sighed into his hands.

Jo folded her arms. “Wait, why did Brick come all the way out here just to go back five minutes later?”

“Poor planning,” Noah said at the same time Owen said, “I wanted to meet him!”

Noah shrugged. “Owen did the same thing to poor Anne Maria and Leshawna.”

“Maybe in the future, you should meet the returners at the airport?” Brick suggested. “That would be much more efficient.”

“For _them_ , maybe,” Noah said. “I’m not trying to travel any more than I have to.” 

Well, then. Brick looked back at the limo. He just had to endure one more flight, and then he could take another nap and resume his regularly-scheduled summer.

“It was a pleasure to meet you two,” he said to Owen and Noah. “Perhaps we’ll meet again at some sort of Total Drama reunion.”

“That would be _epic_!” Owen practically swooned.

“Meh,” said Noah.

Jo had a peculiar look on her face. “You guys can head inside,” she told the veterans. “I'll be there in a minute.”

“Works for me.” Noah tugged on Owen’s arm and dragged him back to the hotel.

They were alone again. Though Brick had grown up saying goodbyes to various family members leaving for deployment, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say now. This was eerily similar to the last time he’d said goodbye to Jo, at the end of Revenge the previous summer. They’d taken the same flight out of Muskoka, so she’d been the last person to whom he’d bid farewell. He’d been trying to craft some sincere comment about their rivalry, but Jo had punched him on the arm, said, “So long, Private Peepants,” and walked off.

“Well, it’s been quite an adventure,” Brick said before she could pull a similar stunt.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m glad you out of all people picked me up.” Jo shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think I could’ve survived eight hours with Dawn or Staci.”

They walked back to the limo. Before Brick could open the door, Jo grabbed his arm.

“Hey. You better text me.”

“I thought you didn’t get your phone back until the season ends?”

“Yeah, and?” Jo let go. “Don’t be a wimp and just text me.”

He saluted. “Will do, ma’am.”

Her smile fell halfway between a grin and a smirk. “Cool. Talk to you later, then.”

“Alrighty.” Brick finally opened the limo door. “Take care, Jo.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Once the limo had rolled away, Brick opened a new text thread.

 _Anne Maria, can I request a favor_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's the end of that. Hope y'all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> they say to write what you love, so I'm back at it again with another jock fic
> 
> anyways I'm sure the consensus of 99% of the fandom is that the All Stars contestants got picked up by other former contestants, a theory popularized by Total Shuffled All Stars and Cast Swap—both excellent fanfics—and supported by the fact Heather retrieved Alejandro in episode 10.
> 
> also: i hate the stupid Flush of Shame. I hate it. I hate writing about it.


End file.
